


Blood and Power

by SonicoSenpai, Vianeyntt



Series: Just the Smut Please [10]
Category: Togainu no Chi
Genre: Akira Seme!, Drugged Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Kinbaku, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Original Universe, Painplay, Rape/Non-con Elements, Restraints, Rough Sex, Switching, Wax Play, explicit artwork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 07:15:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19436551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonicoSenpai/pseuds/SonicoSenpai, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vianeyntt/pseuds/Vianeyntt
Summary: This is a joint submission to the Akira Seme Anthology. The artwork is by Vianeyntt.Please note that this takes place after Shiki's Akira-slut ending, and spoilers may apply. Also, be warned that this work contains non-con elements and drug-induced sex.





	Blood and Power

“Akira.”

At least, that’s the word I try to say, but it doesn’t quite make it out of my mouth. I’m feeling strange—my entire body is feeling heavier than it should, as though my body is dissolving and my mind is floating away from my body. I look down at my hands, and they don’t look like my own. They aren’t the right shape, though they are dressed in the black gloves I always wear—the shiny black leather I _always_ wear. Nothing is different, I tell myself, taking a deep breath.

I’m the supreme being. Nothing can be done to me. I’ve already conquered my fears.

As my ability to process thought dissolves, I realize he has been acting strangely. He looked extraordinarily beautiful this evening—dressed in a clean white silk shirt, and for a change, smelling of no one other than himself—his own compelling, sweet, alluring scent. I’d even asked his guard, and he hadn’t seduced any other men while I was away. He’d outdone himself in preparing a small reception and a candlelit dinner for me in his room, which I haven’t yet had a chance to eat, served with a lovely red Burgundy he’s saved for the occasion—a gift from a trip to France I’d brought back for him. My glass stands only about a third empty, and then the realization hits me.

He’s somehow managed to drug me.

What is he planning? I know he lost the will and desire to escape long ago. There’s nothing for him in this world other than me, and there is nowhere he can run where I couldn’t find him and bring him right back. So what exactly are his plans tonight? 

I’m surprisingly intrigued.

“It’s our anniversary, Shiki. Ten years this week,” his soft voice whispers in my ear—and the murmuring sound makes my body respond, even in its near comatose state. “I’ll take care of you tonight. Just relax and enjoy yourself.” Shining silver hair shimmers in my vision, sparkling in the low light of the candles, and his blue bedroom eyes glow with a mischievous delight that I haven’t seen in years. Indeed, I see the humor. I cannot move a muscle.

A loud sound thuds in my ears and my view changes abruptly. My head has landed hard against the table, covered in a deep, rich burgundy tablecloth, which matches the accent color of the room. I chose deep red to accent black and silver since it looks beautiful against his pale skin. And then—my ability to form coherent, normal thoughts shifts slightly. 

What _is_ burgundy, I wonder? A color, yes, but what _is_ color? Oddly, things that are burgundy absorb every color except burgundy, which is reflected against the retina of my eye, so why do we call it burgundy? Do we call it burgundy because that is the color that I, the supreme being, deem it to be? That is the color that I have decided to call whatever this mess of a retinal illusion is, and so, Burgundy It Is. This issue becomes of the utmost importance—something for my brain to work out right this instant. 

My body feels _very_ good, light and floaty. My black glove rests next to my face on top of the burgundy cloth, and it seems to be sinking into the table. Part of me knows that there are things like dishes—plates, silverware, glasses—on the table as well, but I don’t see them reflected in my view so they do not exist right now. What exactly is it that keeps these two things—my hand and this cloth—the black and the red—separated? Because inside me—pulsing loud in my ear—runs my blood—Nicole Premier’s blood. It’s as deep and red as the tablecloth. What keeps these things apart and as separate entities? For that matter, what keeps the black leather of my glove and my skin from running together? 

My world slowly morphs into one without words, without time with only ideas. It’s frightening, at first—I still hear everything: all the sounds in and around my body that I usually ignore, and my pulse is very loud. Also, my sense of touch is aroused. I feel the clothes against my body like they are a part of me. I feel the chair beneath me and I don’t understand what it is. Right now, I don’t understand the concept of a “chair,” in fact. I feel the saliva in my mouth and I don’t understand it. That is when I notice a taste in my mouth—and my sense of taste is overblown and excited. I taste a difference between what is at the tip of my tongue and in the back of my mouth, and swallowing is weird and slow—and I know I am doing it but I don’t know what I am doing. My tongue feels swollen and foreign. And my vision—I don’t understand anything I am seeing except the color, and even that is vague and shaking. It’s easier to close my eyes. But even then, I see a pattern of lights which must be on the back of my eyelids, but I don’t understand this, either.

Am I afraid?

No. This is not fear. I have nothing to fear anymore. This I do remember, and it helps me relax a little more. This is just strange. I don’t know what this is. And someone is here with me. Someone is speaking softly and interacting with me, touching me—someone comforting, someone I trust, someone I look forward to seeing—the person I return to every day.

But his name won’t come to me.

I know how he feels: soft and smooth. And I also know he sounds silver and blue and white—like the cloudy summer sky in my world of black. I know he tastes sweet and silky. 

I simply rest—I can’t move my body—though I feel myself being moved, I think—and even the concept of “I” and what constitutes “Shiki” changes. I’d always thought I was separate from the world. But now I can see how much a part of the universe I am, and it’s a comforting feeling. I can see that I _am_ Nicole Premier now—I have become Nicole Premier. I have overcome my fears and I am continuing his battle, only I have succeeded where he failed. I am his blood. I am…

I am starting to wake. I haven’t been able to tell time, and when I wake, I realize something is different. I feel strange. When I open my eyes, my vision still shakes, so I close my eyes, despite the soft voice speaking gentle words.

 _Akira_. That is the name of the enchanting silver creature.

And then I feel something else. Surprise? It isn’t anger. It must be shock. What has he done to me?

My senses are still heightened—and I realize this doubly so when something hot burns my chest, close to my left nipple. It’s a hot, liquid sensation, and it clings to me, burning me. The heat also surprises me, and it makes me open my eyes, just for a moment. What _was_ that?

I look down—is it blood? No—it’s too thick and too matte for blood. What is it?

I hear a soft giggle.

“You’re so beautiful, Shiki. I’ve always wanted to have you like this.”

 _Have me?_ Of course, he would. Who wouldn’t want me? I am the most powerful man in the world.

Drip, drip, drip.

I hiss softly. It’s painful but not unbearable—and still more shocking than anything else. My mind is not quite functioning, but I realize something isn’t right with my silver-haired lover, either. He is different. He is kneeling over me, dripping that hot stuff on my chest. I look up at him again.

Wax? It’s a candle! He’s burning me with wax! Another giggle escapes his lips, and it sounds almost maniacal.

“I’ve never once seen you helpless. Once, I’ve seen you out of control. But I’ve always wanted you under _my_ control.”

He sets the candle down and brings something to my lips. I can’t turn my head so something rich and wonderful drips into my mouth. That must be the wine. He carefully blots at the corners of my lips. 

“Wh-what—?” I manage a single word before my mind starts floating again.

“You’re beautiful, Shiki. And tonight, you are _all_ _mine_.” 

For just a single moment, I get a soft, gentle chill at the base of my neck which shivers down my spine—a trickle of ice—from the tone of his voice. Was that… _fear_?

It could _never_ be fear—never. Akira is Null Nicole, but he is _mine_ —my _slave_ . He would never hurt me—he _could_ never hurt me. Could he? These are the last coherent thoughts that float through my mind before I lose my ability to form words once again. 

Time slows down. I even hear my pulse slow, the beat of my heart decelerating. As my blood—Premier’s blood—pumps through my veins, and I feel it squishing through my vessels with each strong heartbeat—I realize something for the first time in my life. Not only do I no longer have anything to fear, but I am the _reason_ this country, this earth, and this universe exists. Everything revolves around _me_ —and _only_ me. It’s all here for my advancement and pleasure—my enjoyment. This entire moment—the entire universe—has evolved for _me._

Sighing with this amazing realization, I am filled with a sense of euphoria and epiphany—and I think, “Why has it taken me so long to realize this? I made the best decision of my life that day when I…” 

But I can’t remember exactly which day I’m referring to. The concept of a day, in fact, is irrelevant, because I _am_ the universe. My blood, my cells, the molecules, and atoms that make up what I think of as “Shiki” will one day again be one with the universe and spread to everything else, just like the blood I have been scattering throughout the country to control it.

Mind, this epiphany is slightly blurry, because of my current aphasia. I don’t really realize its significance until I come down from this high. But this _is_ the best moment of my entire life.

And I wake again, feeling something moving against my skin—something soft—perhaps even melting into my skin—that soft silver possession of mine—trying to become one with me. I realize that is what he is doing. But he is doing something to me that I have never experienced and it feels so strange.

My mouth feels strange—and I taste something sweet—his tongue? Pushing aside my own tongue? I open my eyes and see his face right before me. What is this feeling? He wants to be one with me—he wants to possess me—he wants what I am—and so I will allow this.

Just because it is _him_.

As I let my jaw relax and I return the kiss, my ears are flooded with soft, gentle sighs and moans—familiar but more excited than usual. His voice is a comfort to me, a balm to my soul, and it feels good. I try to move what I think is my hand, but I cannot. Am I still paralyzed? It doesn’t bother me. I’m all powerful, all desired, and the world revolves around me. Even after my death, the world will still revolve around me. I will be absorbed by those who I currently control, and they will have no choice but to be invaded by my very atoms. 

Slowly but surely, I start to rouse from this dream-like trance, still relaxed and euphoric but slightly dizzy. My vision shakes when I open my eyes. However, I long to gaze upon my possession. He has opened his silk shirt himself, and his skin feels so smooth against my chest— 

Wait a minute. Why am I able to feel his skin against my chest? Where is my shirt?

“Shh, it’s all right. Shiki—you are perfect. You are so beautiful,” his wonderful voice coos. Akira has a certain tone he uses in the bedroom, and he has it turned on fully. But he sounds like he is comforting me—and I don’t mind it. I am in a strange mood. I try to reach out my hand to stroke his hair—and I can’t. Where is my arm? 

“What—?” I manage a single word this time, and my lips are kissed again.

As much as I enjoy this slave of mine, I rarely kiss his lips. I can count the number of times I have kissed his lips on one hand, and this is the second time he has kissed me tonight. It is unusual behavior, surely. Something is strange.

I look down at my body, which has been moved to the bed. I am nude. Completely nude. And there is a red snake—perhaps several snakes—slithering across my body, restraining me to the bed. Those strange, slender snakes are preventing me from moving my arms. My limbs feel heavy, too.

“What is this?”

“It’s called kinbaku,” my slave answers. “It’s the ancient art of rope bondage. I had the silk rope brought in especially for the occasion, thinking you might use it on me—and then I thought in honor of our anniversary, we could try something different. It’s perfect with your eyes.” 

His left hand strokes my face, and I feel his right hand… elsewhere—somewhere I can’t quite identify, and a quiet gasp escapes my throat.

“Stay relaxed, just like this, Shiki. You are so gorgeous,” he coos again.

“Wh-what have you done to me?” I whisper—managing a full question this time, but I have to close my eyes to finish the question. 

“Nothing that you haven’t done to me thousands of times before—and I will make you feel so very good.”

It feels strange—though slightly painful and tight. I still don’t quite understand what he is doing, and when I open my eyes, the ceiling will not focus, and the room will not stay still.

“Shiki…” The lovely voice purrs in my ears, and I feel his warm body pressing up against me—bare skin pressing against my bare skin—and something hot and hard pushing inside me—and right then I realize what is happening to me, what my slave is doing to me. 

He never ceases to surprise me.

A burst of pain startles my lower half, and it burns—feeling ever more like I am being rent in two. I try to keep my groans quiet, but because of my current state, I am unable to control my voice.

My ears are filled with his pleasured moans, which has another effect on me. I’ve heard them so often that my body responds and my own cock starts to harden, even despite the pain I’m suffering. It’s such an odd combination, but perhaps it’s too an effect of the drugs. It isn’t unpleasant—the combination of pleasure and pain—especially not with my silver-haired sex slave sighing above me, pushing his body against me, and stroking my cock.

“You’re so hot inside, Shiki,” he murmurs desperately—and the whisper tickles my ears. He touches my hair, stroking it gently. He is facing me, and my legs are spread with my knees pushed up against my chest. I’m unable to move them—but this doesn’t seem to bother me, either, since I’ve had that epiphany about being the reason for the existence of the universe. All this time the universe has existed, waiting for me to take over. Of course, my beloved partner would want to connect with me.

I groan again in discomfort, but the insides my thighs and cock are being caressed eagerly. His lips kiss my mouth and neck—almost like he is feeding on me—and I am still unable to move. Then, I feel his thighs resting against me—and he is hot and slightly damp with sweat. He rests for a moment and releases a contented sigh, meeting my gaze with eyes that shine a bright lapis blue. He is a gorgeous creature—exactly what I have molded him into, a creature to enchant me and the entire staff at this palace of ours. 

He strokes my waist and sides, and then rocks his hips forward, watching my face intently. When he does this, my vision shakes and small white stars sparkle in the corners of my vision. It feels strange. I don’t resist, simply gazing at his face, admiring my own creation.

He begins moving a little more aggressively, as though with a purpose—and he changes his position a few times. It still hasn’t occurred to me that my sex slave is fucking me without my consent—that he has somehow managed to drug me and restrain me—and it won’t for some time. When I _do_ finally realize all these things, I will punish him. I never will admit that I am actually enjoying his attention—and relishing how his entire being is focused on me. His movements are getting smoother and more pleasant—when suddenly, like when I had my momentous realization earlier, the floor seems to drop from beneath me. 

I gasp out loud—my breath becoming ragged—and the white stars in the corner of my vision flicker in all the colors of the rainbow. I lose my ability to breathe for a moment, and Akira stops his movement momentarily. He meets my eyes with that mischievous smirk and then repeats the movement with the same effect.

What _is_ this?

This must be the physical connection—the proof of my epiphany—my reward for being the center of the universe, its god, and the reason for the universe’s existence. Therefore I allow my servant to worship me, and my voice spills out freely, enjoying the sensation, indicating my pleasure. Of course, my most beloved slave would want to pleasure me in this way! Why wouldn’t he? He would be compelled to pleasure me with every tool at his disposal and with every morsel of his existence.

I relax and let my voice go, gasping, moaning, sighing—eventually crying out in ecstasy.

Akira continues stroking my cock lovingly and kisses my lips, speeding up his thrusts, becoming rougher and more violent in his movements—moving his body faster and faster. At first, I struggle in my bonds to get my arms loose, but then I change my mind. If he wishes to worship me in the way, I should allow it. And then, for one moment, I feel like I might pass out when I can’t quite catch my breath between my pleasured gasps.

Fucking Akira is always a pleasure. But this experience is other-worldly. _This_ is the universe rewarding me for having overcome my fear and conquering it. I’m sure of that as I approach the cliff of my climax and let myself go—falling off over the edge and floating for just a moment as my vision and thoughts blanch and go completely white.

My passion explodes—pleasure tearing through the core of my body and rippling in waves through my limbs. My come spills into Akira’s hand—and I feel my insides clench tight around his cock, making him climax right after me, sighing in that obscene voice of his, right into my ear, as he spills his hot seed inside of me—giving everything he has to me—sacrificing everything of himself for my sake. My body sucks it up and it feels so hot inside me—like my blood craves his seed.

He collapses on top of my body, catching his breath and panting, pulling out of me slowly—and even that feels strange. I’ve never been taken this way before. And it isn’t till later that I will tell myself I would never allow another human being to do such a thing to me. It isn’t till after I have punished him for his insolence—taking him forcefully, edging him till he can’t take any more—part of me realizes I must have wanted this.

But now, I lie in the wonderful, dizzy afterglow—watching the chandelier on the ceiling over our bed spin. I smell Akira’s soft scent—masculine and so familiar. 

There is still a part of him I have not yet conquered. I thought he had completely submitted himself to me. And I thought we played these games—who Akira has fucked this time?—because that was the nature of our bond. It seems, however, he still has it in him to surprise me. And that’s interesting.

I was right to spare his life all those years ago.


End file.
